


Moonlight Sonata

by veneratio



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beorn is having none of this, Bilbo drooling, Dwarven customs, Dwarves, F/M, Fluff, Fun, Hilarity Ensues, dwarves dancing, what's up with that special honey Gandalf's eating?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 16:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veneratio/pseuds/veneratio
Summary: One shot fluff: Too many tankards of ale, a mysterious lady, dancing in stables…. just a regular night for Thorin & Co!





	Moonlight Sonata

The hefty, double-thick oak door of the log cabin slammed shut with a crash. With gnashing snaps and clamping jaws, a monstrously-sized bear snarled behind it with the company of Thorin Oakenshield panting safely on the other side.

Thorin surveyed his men, eyes flicking from one out-of-breath dwarf to the next in a head-count. _All here. Good_ . He thought to himself. He turned in search of the tall, grey wizard to vent some of his irritation from the past few days---and for this last-ditch little detour into someone’s (or _something’s)_ home.

Gandalf was preoccupied with striking his pipe and now rested easily next to one of the gargantuan wooden support columns of the log cabin. His bemused pebble-like eyes were cast upwards following the carved linework of huge beams. Animals and geometric scrollwork adorned the rafters; the woodwork was carefully hewn, designed and crafted by two very large hands.

The dwarves, one-by-one, slowly followed Thorin and Gandalf’s gaze upward. All admired with soft sighs, approving nods, and grins. A dwarf never missed a finely crafted thing…especially one of wood or stone. Curiosity got the better of them as their feet followed their wandering eyes throughout the room. Gandalf himself puffed his pipe appreciatively as he neared a handsomely constructed chair set with badgers frolicking in a field of strawberries. He chuckled as his fingertips glided over the carved grooves contrasted against the silky smooth surface.

But something was off. Everything seemed _bigger_. Even for Gandalf, whose grey hat always seemed to touch the lower branches of the loftiest of trees, the room loomed about him.

Gandalf’s booming voice snipped through the appreciative murmurings, “Welcome to the home of Beorn. Master of these surrounding wood and friend to many an animal who resides within.  He also happens our host for the evening.”

The dwarven company turned to Gandalf in surprise. Balin nodded in comprehension and moved to speak quietly with Thorin. After a few short words, Thorin turned to find Gandalf nearby, his bearded face lingered with a mash of checked emotion and recollection.

“And this Beorn, does he know of our presence?” Thorin rumbled out, his eyes flicking around him. At this, Dwalin gripped the handle of his hip-slung warhammer.

“Thorin, I believe-” started Gandalf, but Balin cut him off gently.

“That Beorn is well-aware of our company’s arrival,” Balin nodded upwards to the next room which held an enormous hewn oak table and accompanying chairs…and a large shadowy shape in the back.

“Master Beorn,” Gandalf and Balin addressed in unison. The surrounding company of dwarves turned their attention as the figure emerged into the light of the main room, the tip of his hair almost brushing the bottom of the cabin’s support beams.

The man’s nose twitched and flared slightly as he scoffed, “Dwarves. You can smell them an arrow’s shot away.”

His thick eyebrows furrowed as he glanced over to the Hobbit amidst the mixed company.  He nodded his head towards Bilbo and stated, “This one… this one I do not recognize.”

Gandalf answered politely, “This is a halfling——a hobbit from a good, respectable family in the Shire.” He nudged Bilbo forward with the bottom of his staff. Beorn looked him over cautiously, his yellow-flecked eyes resting on the copiously furred hobbit’s feet.

“Are you sure his is not one of my kin?” Beorn asked scrupulously. Both Bilbo and Beorn did seem to look unusually similar in the excessive body hair department.

“I’m afraid not. Come, I hear you have started on a new batch of honey from the words of my friend Radagast. Delicious, from what I’ve gathered,” the wizard spoke as he gestured in a slight bow towards the side of the cabin.

With that, Beorn’s eyes softened a bit and he gave a half-chiseled smile, “Yes, Radagast speaks well and he was indeed here not a moon ago.”

The pair disappeared into a side room talking amiably over the enormous clay pots on the multitude of shelves. The company of dwarves looked to Thorin.

He nodded once and then spoke,  “It seems that we’re lodging here for time being. There was a stable out on the side. Sleep there.”

The weary crew filed in through a shortened hallway to the left of the dining room and into the attached stable. The fresh, clean smell of cut hay and clover melted together with the earthen odors of the dwarves unpacking their bedrolls. Scents of leather, woven overcoats, and metal armaments filled the spacious room as each dwarf chose an unoccupied stall to unpack.

Thorin was the last to unpack, his eyes cautiously checking the main dining room and adjoining compartment rooms. He sensed something off. It wasn’t Beorn or the great, oversized _everything_ …but something more. Something familiar.

He was brought back from his reverie by Kili clapping a hand on his shoulder and spoke,  “Say, Uncle, what do you make of all this?” Kili’s woodland brown eyes twinkling as he gestured broadly with a wooden beer tankard the size of his head in hand.

Thorin eyed the tankard’s size, his nephew, and then back a doorway to the stable before speaking, “There is something unusual.”

“That’s well and obvious.”

“More so, I mean,” He turned quickly on the spot. A fleeting _something_ just missed from the corner of his eye. Kili exchange a puzzled look and then joined his brother, Fili, in the room with the oversized table.

Bombur had started to make a stew in the massive cauldron that hung in the hearth. His unusually large girth was of no issue with the spaciousness of the fireplace. The remainder of the dwarves were laughing, joking, and filling the oversized wooden tankards with some ale (found mysteriously by Nori in one of the storerooms). Beorn came in with Gandalf later. His chilly facade had unthawed as Bombur dished out a hearty bowl of stew to the bear-of-a-man.

“Not too bad,” Beorn muttered towards the fat dwarf as he started on with his meal. Gandalf chuckled and blew a few smoke rings to entertain his fellow companions.

Between jokes, stories, and few renditions of their favorite songs, the majority of the group didn’t notice a small pair of eyes from the far left corner of the room watching the merriment.

Dwalin noticed the shadowy figure first and muttered close to Thorin when he reached over to fetch a hewn hunk of bread from table near Thorin’s right, “It seems we have another yet to join the party.”

Balin took noticed as well and between pipe puffs nodded imperceptibly to towards the darkened back corner. Thorin glanced back toward that direction and although he didn’t catch what _it_ was _…_ he felt a smaller shiver of goosebumps sweep peculiarly up on his left arm. He pulled his arm under the table in a right-bearing lean in his chair towards Dwalin.

Amidst the chatter and jovial merriment, Beorn sniffed the air quickly as Gandalf commented on the delicately crafted scrollwork of the overhanging support beam.

He raised a hand halt the wizard’s conversation and called out over his right shoulder, “There’s only a bit of stew left. Quite good, too. The scarf-wearing one is thinking about taking the last bit’o’it.”

Ori was mid-step towards the hearth before he stopped dead in his tracks. The table look over at where bear-like man had called out to.

A slim woman in a leaf-green tunic dress stepped out from the shadows. Her sheet of long fox-orange hair swayed slightly as she glided through the room towards Ori. The smaller, bashful dwarf’s cheeks now tinged with a pink blush as she passed him by.

 

Gandalf addressed her with a tip-up of his pipe and spoke, “Lady Kitsune, I had recollected you had been passing through the southern seas on a Flying Dutchman seeking a famous lost bottle of deep sea squid’s ink.”

She smiled at his words and dug out the last bit of the rich stew from the pot. The company of dwarves followed the duo’s conversation while they ate through the remnants of their meal, their eyes staying more on the Lady than Gandalf.

She replied sagely back with a small smile, “A’hah! So my decoy birds from the West carrying their grapevine messages have proven their worth. About time!”

“I beg your pardon? I’ve good account from the Head of the-”

“It makes no matter. As long as the other rumors are true then I’ll gladly take claim to them,” Kitsune replied with a smirk. Gandalf raised a pepper-grey eyebrow and smiled warmly back. The surrounding company, except Thorin, looked on at her intently.

She glanced around the large table, noted this and then spoke again, “What your traveling companion, Master Dwarves, is alluding to is a rather bold series of tall tales, clever traps made for ne’er-do-wells, and thrifted yarns of chin-bobbling.”

Bilbo piped up, “Chin bobbling? Why, are you familiar with the Shire? Loads of my relatives are champions of chin bobbling and chin waggling.”

She responded kindly, “I’ve skirted through there once or twice…” Her eyes glinted mischievously at him. “…Although you wouldn’t have seen me.”

“We would have definitely remembered a fine Lady such are yourself in the Shire,” the Hobbit said. “Are you sure you haven’t…?”

“To those that don’t know” Gandalf cut in, “Our Lady is a akin to Beorn.”

The dwarves looked suspiciously at the Lady. They couldn’t think this gracious slip of a woman could transform into a raging, snarling beast-of-a-bear like Beorn. Gandalf read their looks, scoffed, and explained. “No, not a bear. Our Lady is one of the fox people. A skin changer.”

“Last of her kind, too.” Beorn said flatly as he picked up a jar of thin sweet biscuit and poured out a few on his plate. Gandalf nodded sadly and looked towards the Lady.

She gave a small smile before saying, “But back to the adventures at hand. Shall I set the records straight?”

“By all means, my Lady,” replied Gandalf as he re-set his pipe with a few more pinches of tobacco.

As the Lady recounted the intrigues, Dwalin’s ears perked up as did the rest of the crew. Bombur had a bit of soup dripping his spoon halfway through while Oin and Gloin had struck up their pipes.

Not much later, the room was filled by raucous cheering, the spicy aroma of pipe tobacco, guffaws and knee-slapping when Kitsune got to a particularly curious part of her story.

“… And then my husband comes into the house drunk as a pig and what does he do? He goes over to the hearth and lights the fire!” exclaimed Lady Kitsune.

The table was in uproar with groans, tears, and double-over dwarves. Beorn had been pawing at a small jar of honey with some thin sweet biscuits, crumbs dribbled down his ferociously wild beard and a small crinkled smile dancing on his face. Even Thorin had a far away look and minuscule smile gracing his face.

“He did not!” Exclaimed Fili, pouring himself a seventh tankard of ale. Kili jabbed at his ribs and passed his tankard over to his brother to fill up as well.

“I dare say he did,” Kitsune laughed.

“But… but the map! The historic lore!” Bofur gaped. Ori and Balin nodded as well.

 

“Aye,” She replied nodding. “Lost now, I suppose.”

“Whoever your husband is should be drawn, quartered and… and tarred with feathers! That’s precious history, at least in the eyes of a Dwarf,” Dwalin growled out between gulps from his ale tankard as he thumbed the warhammer set nestled next to his chair.

“Ehhhh….” She said as she refilled her own with another round. “…I’m not so sure going to those measures…”

Bifur cut in quickly and gruffly with a long, harsh stream of Khudzul with Bofur at his elbow nodding and then translating when he saw the Lady’s confused look, “He… errr… has a few other choice reparations.”

“Like cutting off his balls and dragging him behind a ram-driven sledge across the glacial ice chunk fields of the North!” Shouted Fili across the table. Kili raised a tankard in support.

“Yeah!” Roared a most decidedly tipsy Oin and Gloin which started a round of tankards being drummed down upon the oaken table in agreement. Balin chuckled to himself and shared a look with Gandalf.

Thorin cut through the chorus of wooden noise and spoke to silence the table at large,  “But what did happen to him?”

Gandalf regarded at Thorin, clamping nervously on his pipe. He looked to the Lady next.

She chuckled, “If I recall correctly, afterward, I did set him out to cut the lawn with a pair of scissors.” The dwarves gave her a confused look to which she explained. “The lawn was a arrow’s full shot in diameter.”

A chorus of “Ahhhs!” and satisfied chortles ensued.

The merry conversation and the bellowing songs of the dwarves resumed once more.

A few hours later and many, many tankards of ale, the dwarves bumbled their way out of the room to find their bedrolls (or in the case of Dwalin a soft mound of hay to plant face-first into).  A sleepy Bilbo had found his way to a squat leather ottoman near the wooden dining table and plunked down on it, puffing his pipe lazily.

Gandalf was deep in conversation with Beorn and Thorin over the merits of leather scale armor compared to ring mail. So engrossed were they that the Lady’s movements to stand up and clear the table went unnoticed. She picked her way around the table and noted to herself that Nori’s cutlery was gone as were the ones directly to the left and right of where he was sitting at the table.A small chuckle escaped her lips as she scooped up the last of the tableware.

Bilbo’s pipe dropped from his mouth with a hollow clattering noise on the floor. A small trail of drool hanging from his mouth.

With that, Gandalf gently spoke to her, “My Lady, I do thank you for your hospitality this night. And to yours as well, Beorn”.

Beorn nodded once to the wizard and bowed his head to the Lady before striding out of the cabin. A majestic roar was heard a few moments later making Gandalf turn inquiringly towards the echoing sound.

“Pay him no mind, ” Kitsune offered the wizard and dwarf. “The worst he’ll do is get drunk off all the honey in the pots outside,” She smiled downward and then gazed back at the pair before she spoke once more, “I found him once in that state after we hosted Radagast and a few of his traveling companions.”

Thorin eyed the door’s thick wooden lock then returned his attention back to the table. Gandalf puffed out a smoke circle followed by what could be construed as a rudimentary pair of scissors.

The Lady chuckled lightly at the sight and soon both Thorin and Gandalf followed up in chorus.

“Well then,” Gandalf spoke up. “I’ve a notion to find out where Beorn keeps his smaller jars of honey.  I heard the sweetness makes the enjoyer have the most marvelous of dreams.”

He then winked and added, “Best not mention this to our host.”

With that he tipped his head at the pair and withdrew from the room towards a smaller door on the right.

The Lady gazed out a nearby window and then asked Thorin, “Have you seen our horses? They are friends of Radagast’s that we’ve been so kind to house for the time being.”

“No”, he replied as he folded his hands on the table. “Though I think a pony would do well for a dwarf. Do you have them here? My men will need them for our journeys ahead”.

“Hmmm…” she sounded, regarding him and then spoke. “Yes, I believe we do. Come, let me show you the stables and tack. There are two that are like Master Fili and Kili.”

“So then I’ll need to keep an eye on them, yes?” he stated more than asked.

“I’m sure of it. Yes.” she laughed out.

With that, they both withdrew from the room through the shortened hallway on the left towards the stables. Haphazardly strewn-about sleeping dwarves met their eyes. Sonorous grunting, heaving, and heavy breathing echoed through the room.

“You must excuse my men. It has been a while since they… well… slept in this luxurious of accommodations,” said Thorin. The Lady nodded and then pointed towards a door on the other side of the main stable room.

Carefully picking their way through the tangle of legs, arms and weapons, they reached the other side. Thorin reached out to the door handle when it swung open unexpectedly. A very drunk Kili stumbled in towards them.

With a slight hiccup, he slurred out, “There’s a privy….beyond the small four-legged creatures in the -in there, m’lady. Ni-ni-nicest one I’ve ever sat down upon. So soft and warm!” He then took one step away and fell into a sleeping heap nearest to them.

“You think he meant the ponies or the privy?” Thorin asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Knowing Kili… I hope for the latter as there isn’t a bathroom in that portion of the stable,” said the Lady, her eyebrows raised.  Thorin moved his conked-out nephew onto a nearby open bedroll and walked through the door. Kitsune followed.

The darkened room was roughly of the same size as the previous, however the smaller, shorter nature of the of ponies’ stalls gave a much wider aisle to walk in. Unlit brass lanterns hung from pegs next to each stall, twenty in all.

The Lady then glided to attend and light each individually, humming to herself. The illumination chased the shadows bit-by-bit until they scurried out into the open night outside. Thorin watched her out of the corner of his eye as he fed a nearby pony some oats from a woven mesh bag hitched nearby.

“That tune you are humming. That is familiar, is it not?” queried Thorin. He moved to the next stall to a neighboring pony that had smelled the rich, fragrant oats and began to let it nibble from his hand.

“Oh I believe it is a Dwarven one if I’m not mistaken,” Lady Kitsune mused as she began to hum slower and deeper. “Something about a far off cold mountain with fire red and flaming spread”.

While both were focusing their attentions on their task at hand, Balin edged up to the door slowly and leaned against the frame. He too heard the familiar and heart-strengthening song of his folk. Its pull and golden light from the doorway roused him from his slumber.

When Kitsune turned to the cross the room to light the last stall’s lantern, she found Thorin surveying her.

“My Lady,” He spoke, a gentle smile on his face. “The song reminds me much of my home. May I dance with you if you keep humming the tune?”

Her eyes crinkled merrily as she spoke, “I can do you one better.”

She crossed the room and fetched an odd shaped wooden box with gears on the side. Placing it on a nearby stool, she opened the lid and started to crank counter-clockwise the box’s gears. Soon, a tinkling rendition of her own hummed tune permuted the air.

Thorin smirked then chuckled before saying, “I don’t know where you got that music box from, but I swear on Mahal’s tomb that I gifted that to a certain tall grey-robed friend nearly three decades ago.”

“I too heard the rumor that Gandalf was bestowed a rare treasure at a dwarven celebration that brought together the clans far and wide. Ironfoots, Danes, and Blue Mountain tribes alike.

“Music, I hear, is a dwarf’s true treasue, is it not? Couple that with dwarven engineering, a treasure such as this is something even a wizard would not dare ask how it works.” She spoke as the pair joined hands in the center of the warmly lit stable.

Balin gave a small smile as he saw his King take up the Lady’s hand and started off in what humans would think was a waltz. The gliding pair floated through the clean straw slowly. A faint _swish-whish-swish_ kept in time with the music box’s melody.

The white-bearded dwarf hadn’t seen a waltz so simple, so fine of style in a long time. The perilous journeys of the Company did not really afford any time for relaxation. He was almost lost in thought of times past, when he saw the couple abruptly and oddly change pace to a sweet, shy dance. Their steps became timid somewhat.

At his elbow, he felt a mittened hand. Ori had quietly appeared and looked out onto the couple. A light red blush tinged his cheeks as he saw the happily-sweet side-stepping dancing couple. Ori caught Balin’s eye, smiled, and then retreated back to his bedroll.

Balin turned his attentions back to the couple and they resumed their graceful and majestic wide-sweeping waltz he saw just minutes earlier. He swayed a bit to the music, following the orbiting couple before he heard the faint unmistakable clomp-clomp of his brother Dwalin’s boots.

The couple before him changed their pace and started unabashedly stamping their feet into what Balin could only assume was a dance teetering on the edge of an actual sword fight (sans swords of course). The staccato movement of their legs, a well-timed hip check, and a whirl of the Lady through the air garnered a slight chuckle from Dwalin before he softly clapped a hand on Balin’s shoulder and headed not back to the stables but through a side door nearby out into the surrounding grounds.

Balin kept his gaze on the couple as they stopped hard into a frozen stance before segueing softly back into the elegant waltz. He scratched his head at this but was confounded more about five minutes later as they started into a very odd mash-up of a very prim, stiff dance with overtones of the waltz from before.

Oin and Gloin appeared next him in to the doorway. Gloin tapped his shoulder and mouthed the word “bathroom”. Balin thumbed over his shoulder towards where Dwalin had exited. The dwarves made leave nodding in unison towards the dancing couple.

Balin’s gaze kept steady as he furrowed his brows. Something oddly familiar lingered in the air and was just out of his mind’s reach. He tilted his head and looked on.

The couple then swept from twirl directly into a jovial, bouncing, and arms-linking dance. Balin recollected that a human acquaintance had called it a “square dance” but he saw no squares in the dance… just a slight knock-off of a traditional Dwarven ax-battle dance. He shook his head with a smile and his thoughts were interrupted yet again by a new smell of honey & bread and then by Bombur munching quietly at his side.

Where the others were able to keep back and in the shadows of the door’s threshold, Bombur’s attempt merely pushed Balin into the jamb. The snacking dwarf pointed a piece of bread at the couple dancing in question. Balin shrugged. He then mouthed “bathroom” and jerked his thumb back over his shoulder towards the other door.

Bomber shook his head, smiled kindly at the elderly dwarf, and went back into the stable. After he left, the couple returned into the fluid looping swirl of the steady waltz. Balin dusted crumbs off his shoulder as he settled back into his watchful stance.

As the night drew on, Balin recounted the numerous dances the tireless dancing couple curiously displayed. With Bifur, there was a zip-and-quick staccato movements with a side of quick clapping. For Bofur, it turned into a high-spirited jig. When Dori came by quickly to look-in, it was a very slow sweeping dance similar to a ballet. Nori’s was a high contrast as their dance proved to be a teasing rouse of side-stepping turns resulting in Thorin’s jacket being pick-pocketed. The Lady gave back to Thorin a small glass-and-gold loupe sheepishly at end.

Their movement switched adroitly then into a rather majestic and caring version of the waltz.  Balin didn’t need to look to his side to know Fili was nearby. The older dwarf chuckled to himself, startling Fili.  The golden-haired dwarf nodded courteously at Balin and was replaced by his younger brother.

The couple then started into a mischievous reel that had the Lady blushing towards the end. Balin turned to the young Prince and thumbed towards the bathroom beyond the door near them. Kili’s eyes glittered as he stifled a laugh as he made his way back.

At last, it was just Balin and the dancing couple that remained. From the looks of happy exhaustion on their faces, he too was relieved as they commenced into back into the light-footed waltz.

Nodding his head to the beaming pair, he bowed slightly and returned back into the shadows of the bigger stable to catch a wink of sleep, a nostalgic smile cast upon his lips.

In natural and grander flourishing strides, Thorin and the Lady arched around the room in agile movements. The pair rounded about the outer part of the stable floor inward; their orbit tightening on each pass until they stood still in the direct center. Thorin let go of his partner and bowed.

She smiled happily towards him. He glanced down and then pulled out from within his Durin blue tunic's inner pocket a pair of rather dull scissors. She gasped in delight at the sight of them and slapped his arm playfully. Thorin let out a roaring laugh.

“Am I forgiven?” He beamed.

“Yes, my dear husband” She laughed out. 

**Author's Note:**

> First fic! Huge round of thanks out to @FizzyCustard for inspiration and just being plain ol' awesome!


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